


Five tardies earns you a Saturday school.

by ectobiologust



Category: Homestuck
Genre: I swear, M/M, everyone laugh with me, im gay trash, in detention, really just, the title is a joke, theyre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectobiologust/pseuds/ectobiologust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You might just congratulate him for his next level brand of complete douchebaggery if you weren’t kind of busy being really peeved with the way the exact same kid is jabbing his pencil at your side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five tardies earns you a Saturday school.

**Author's Note:**

> guess where i was this morning

Your name is John Egbert. 

Currently, you sit at one of many identical tables in your school’s cafeteria, also identical in a sense are the twenty some other students that sit nearby. It happens to be a Saturday, and a quick glance at the clock tells you it’s just half past ten. The supervising teacher has just left the room to heat up a hot pocket, there’s a vaguely familiar blonde prodding at your side in what you assume is a shoddy attempt at getting a rise out of you, and the detention essay assigned about two hours ago still lies unfinished on the cheap, speckled table in front of you.

Great. Another hour and a half to go. You’ve been stuck here since nine, your father having dropped you off with little more than a hug and a curt nod in the school’s direction. You shot him a “Twelve o’clock on the dot, got it, dad?” and he just smiled, tipping his hat towards you. He always was a quiet sort of guy.

Then he was gone, and you were left alone to trudge into the school with a defeated slump, one pink slip of paper signed by your parent and/or legal guardian brandished in your hand. You dropped it on the table in front of some foreign language teacher whose name you’d never bothered to learn. She glanced over its contents, checking off a box alongside your name before waving you into the large room with stale air and artificial light. 

You never think you’ve seen so many frustrated kids with sharp tongues and quick wits before in your life. Saturday school sucks, and you’ve only ever been forced to attend anything like it once. 

Back in middle school, you pulled a pretty big stunt. Dad thought it was hilarious. The principal, however, did not. You were only assigned a single detention, though. He said he’d let you off easy, because you’d ‘never been a troubled kid before’. You decided not to speak up and correct him. Never gotten _caught_ being a troubled kid before. Big difference. 

Dad still took you out for ice cream afterwards. 

High school was different, though. The movie buff you were, you always expected any kind of detention would be some group of rough and rowdy kids actively rebelling against the powers that be, or maybe just some asshole spit balling at the back of your head until you turned around to yell and ended up the one in trouble. 

Neither of those things happened to be true. At first, anyways. If the wads of paper in your hair had anything to say about it, that definitely wasn’t an accurate statement for long. He’s been going at you for a while, and though you’ve managed to remain passive, you haven’t hesitated to shoot the guy an occasional glare. 

God, what an asshole. 

You hadn’t even done anything to deserve this, honestly! A whole Saturday you don’t get to sleep in, and it isn’t even for something that’s worth your suffering, either. Total bullshit. A guy is just a few minutes late to school every now and then, and you throw him into detention on his fifth offense. Rude. 

Regardless, dad hadn’t seemed upset, so you figured you were still in the good. 

Your fifteen minute break ended about ten minutes ago, and man, do you regret not bringing change for the vending machine. You had tried to finish up some independent reading work for English in the first half, though it became clear that reading just wasn’t a thing that was going to happen when you found your eyes skipping lines and blurring words. 

Unbelievable. You were literally boring yourself to sleep. 

You had to reread the same paragraph six times just to get through it, and even then, it seemed a jumble of words through the haze fogging your mind. Sleeping wasn’t an option, that was made apparent by the teacher who paced in front of your group that morning, monotone voice reading off a long list of no’s and don’ts. 

No sleeping, no cell phones, no talking, no laughing, no joking, no food permitted with the exception of the fifteen minute break allowed at approximately 10:00, and dear god, even that had its own set of rules. (Eat quickly, quietly, and cleanly. No food allowed back once the break is over. No phone calls, stay within the staff designated area, keep the noise down.)

You only started to read once her introductory warning was complete, and not forty-five minutes later, you were just about to doze off with your face in your book when the first wad of paper bounced off the back of your head. 

You ignored the first, hoping the kid would move on and find a new target. 

Doink. Another. 

A third bounces off to the side, and you determine tattling is likely a bad idea. Don’t want to wind up on some guy’s shitlist. He’ll get bored with you, eventually. 

An hour later, and you’ve decided that eventually definitely can’t come soon enough. He doesn’t talk to you during the break. In fact, you don’t even _see_ him until he returns from the vending machine with what you’re pretty sure is the entirety of its stock of Doritos. You swear, he’s even got his backpack stuffed full. That must be _at least_ thirty dollars’ worth of shitty, air filled school Dorito bags. Why bother with that, he could have bought his own large bag and had twice as much for, what, four dollars at the gas station? 

You only realize what his intentions are the moment you hear one long, unified groan from just down the hall. “Again.” Holy shit. Apparently he’s done this before. It occurs to you that it’s likely this guy just really likes pissing people off by buying out the school vending machine’s stock in decent chips before making off down the hall with them all stuffed securely in his backpack. 

You might just congratulate him for his next level brand of complete douchebaggery if you weren’t kind of busy being really peeved with the way the exact same kid is jabbing his pencil at your side.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is totally a thing I'll continue, I swear this time, pffthhhshshs. Someone just like. Whap me in the side of the head over at thefreshprinceofconheir.tumblr.com if I forget. Yeah.
> 
> Drop some feedback if you can. (Psssst also pl e a s e tell me if I missed any typos because I'm reALLY bad at that an d yeah.)


End file.
